


Face To Face

by Cracked_Skull



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cracked_Skull/pseuds/Cracked_Skull
Summary: It was nothing more than an ordinary book, but Harry knew there was something deeper than what meets the eye, something he needed to know.During the summer of his 5th year, Harry rediscovers Tom Riddle's diary.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 13
Kudos: 126





	1. The Mysterious Diary

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through the crisp, thin pages of his Transfiguration textbook, briefly glancing through each lengthy and informative paragraph. He wasn't one to read for enjoyment, but he needed to improve his endless, unbearable boredom. 

Serval disquieting thoughts swirled around his mind, erupting into a storm of powerful emotions. 

_ Anger. Sorrow. Boredom.  _

These unpleasant thoughts recalled the previous long and painfully uneventful weeks. 

Despite sending several detailed letters himself, he never received one back from his friends. Did Ron and Hermione no longer care for their friendship? The miserable question left Harry encountering a heavy, shameful sadness. The feeling becoming unconquerable. 

Most nights, Harry had a nightmare of the events that transpired at the end of the school year. 

The frantic dream started in the maze. Harry trudged through the tall hedges, combatting obstacles presented his way. Coming from the Triwizard Cup was a bright, almost blinding glow, lightning up the path. He and Cedric raced to their destination, grasping the Cup at the same time. The dream rolled to a close as Cedric died. 

Harry would wake with a jolt, body covered in an icy sweat, scar throbbing with a  _ haunting  _ pain. As he grasped his surroundings, he would try to control his breathing by taking deep, steady breaths. 

_ Breath in _ .  _ Breath out,  _ he would tell himself, repeating the cycle until his breathing was no longer shaky and shallow.

Harry thought it was all his fault. 

If only he reached the Cup sooner... 

Then maybe—

_ No _ . He needed to quit dwelling over past events. No matter how much he longed to, he couldn't change the past. 

When at Privet Drive, Harry felt isolated.

Isolated from his true home —the magical world. Harry was stranded on a deserted island, miles away from the Wizarding World, trying to survive as he battled against his loneliness. 

It was a hopeless battle with a distinct winner. 

Harry turned the page, browsing through the next section, which discussed vanishing spells. 

However, Aunt Petunia's harsh screams shattered the peaceful atmosphere, her voice chiming dully across the house, announcing she needed Harry downstairs. 

Harry sighed disappointedly, tossing the book a pillow. He hurried down the staircase, his pace close to a sprint, so he wouldn't endure another ear-splitting scream. 

He entered the sitting room. Aunt Petunia was seated on a luxurious, beige sofa, paying no attention to the television news reporter but focusing on her knitting project. The faint humming of a familiar tune drifted across the tense air, soaring in his direction. The sound was vibrant and almost...  _ cheerful?  _

Moments rolled by, his impatience blooming like a flower in the golden, dazzling sunlight. He tapped a foot against the floor, sending a reminder he arrived. 

Aunt Petunia peeped up from her work, sending a direct, compelling gaze in his direction. Her keen grey eyes refusing to leave his emerald ones. 

"There's something important I must discuss with you." A tinge of fear mixed into her dreadfully quiet voice. "A new company hired Vernon to work for them. We'll be moving to Scotland within the following week. The thing is, we don't plan on bringing you with us." 

The news struck him, but not in the way he envisioned. He should have been boiling with rage, but he couldn't bring himself to feel angry. Instead, he was bubbling with happiness. 

It was like a dream becoming  _ reality.  _

"It's not like I want to live with you guys," Harry spoke in a surprisingly calm voice. "I wouldn't recall my life here as enjoyable." Harry couldn't care if his words seemed offensive because it was the truth. 

Aunt Petunia's usually pale face flushed a deep red, swarming with sheer rage. "You'll need somewhere to live," she said.

"Obviously," Harry snapped, unable to help himself from making such a remark. "I don't suppose you have an idea?" 

"Can you quit interrupting." It wasn't a question but a strict demand. "I thought you could write to one of your friends and ask if you could spend the rest of the summer with them."

Harry nearly scoffed.  _ Yes, write to my friends who aren't replying to my letters,  _ he thought bitterly. 

"That sounds like a great idea," he lied, allowing himself to escape the unwanted conversation.

***

Harry recognized the object in an instant.

It was a traditional leather-bound diary with a shabby black cover. 

He had been rummaging through his trunk, searching for some parchment, when he came across the diary. 

In his second year, Harry found the diary in the girl's bathroom on the second corridor. Harry remembered how fascinating the diary was, giving him a powerful urge to write inside. However, when the Ministry caught the culprit behind the attacks, he forgot about his recent discovery, neglecting the book altogether. 

His second year was chaotic. Two students and a cat were petrified, but thanks to Professor Sprout's mandrakes, they returned to their original state. During the first dueling club meeting, students discovered Harry could speak to snakes. The news spread quickly, causing others to assume he was the Heir of Slytherin. Of course, there was no evidence to support the outrageous claim, and thankfully, the rumors disappeared. 

Eventually, the Ministry visited Hogwarts and threw Hagrid in Azkaban, since he opened the chamber fifty years prior. 

Harry refused to believe Hagrid was behind the attacks. Hagrid was a kind, caring man, displaying prejudice towards muggle-borns. 

Harry flipped through the pages of the diary, searching for any writing. To his disappointment, every page was empty except for T. M. Riddle written across the first page. Harry traced a finger along with the back cover, further examining the diary. On the back cover was the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. 

Harry didn't have a single valid reason to keep the diary. It wasn't useful or even remotely interesting, but Harry found himself drawn to the diary for an unexplainable reason. The curiosity was building within him, becoming too strong not to further investigate his discovery, to not write inside those pages. 

The diary felt  _ mysterious.  _

Except, how did it? It was nothing more than an ordinary book, but Harry knew there was something deeper than what meets the eye. Something he  _ needed  _ to know. 

***

After many gut-wrenching, internal debates with himself, Harry was sitting on the bedroom floor, having reached the decision to write in the diary. 

_ What if the diary is cursed?  _

_ No, it's not. The diary is perfectly normal. _

Taking a deep breath, Harry brushed off any contradictions. As he dipped his quill into the ink bottle, the bottle toppled over, spilling a glob of dark liquid across the brittle pages. 

"Fuck," he muttered. 

A couple seconds rolled by, and Harry noticed something odd. Something unexplainable. The ink vanished, and in its place appeared a written response.

**_ Who is this?  _ **

A combination of fear and curiosity bolted through him. The last thing he anticipated was the diary would communicate back. Magic still surprised him after four eventful years at Hogwarts. 

_ Who is this?  _

He was Harry James Potter. A wizard with an average amount of skill who wished for an equally average life. Magical folk all over Britain saw him as a hero, but in all honestly, his victories were nothing more than sheer luck. No talent was involved. 

_ My name is Harry Potter.  _

**_ Hello Harry. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?  _ **

_ Tom Riddle. _

The name rang a bell.

Harry thought he'd heard it before... 

_ No _ , he was  _ sure _ . However, eagerness was exploding inside him, distracting him from thinking about the familiar name. 

_ I found it in the girl's bathroom on the second corridor. Someone tried to flush it down a toilet. _

**_ Interesting. I'm curious about what you were doing in the girl's bathroom. _ **

_ Moaning Myrtle was flooding the halls, so my friend and I checked out what happened.  _

**_ Moaning Myrtle?  _ **

_ She's a ghost that haunts the school bathrooms.  _

** I'm assuming you attend Hogwarts. After all, I'm not sure where else someone would come across my diary.  **

_ Yes. Do you? I don't believe anyone is currently attending Hogwarts with the name Tom Riddle, but your name seems awfully familiar.  _

**_ I did. I'm not quite sure where you'd recognize my name, but perhaps you've seen one of my name on one of my academic awards.  _ **

_ Awards? As in more than one?  _

**_ Yes, Harry. During my fifth year, I received an award for Special Services to the School for catching the culprit behind the Chamber of Secrets. Do you know of the Chamber of Secrets?  _ **

_ The chamber reopened in my second year. Is Hagrid the culprit?  _

**_ I'm afraid so.  _ **

_ But Hagrid can't be the Heir of Slytherin.  _

**_ I must say the news didn't strike me too much. Hagrid was in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls.  _ **

_ I just remembered something. In my second year, my friend served detention in the trophy room and had to polish the entire room. He mentioned throwing up slugs on your trophy. I know, it's a bit disgusting. _

**_ Please tell your dear friend it's not polite to throw up on other students' awards. I prefer my trophies to look rather exquisite.  _ **

_ If you don't mind me asking, how can you respond to my writing?  _

**_ I don't mind at all, Harry. An overly complicated spell I attempted went wrong; ever since my mishap, I've been stuck inside my diary. From what I've gathered, if somebody writes in the diary, I can respond with my thoughts.  _ **

_ Is there a way out of the diary?  _

**_ I'm afraid not. Now, enough questions, I'd like to know more about you, Harry Potter.  _ **

_ Well, I'm starting my 5th year at Hogwarts, and I play Quidditch. Hold up, how old are you?  _

**_ I'm sixteen.  _ **

_ Thank Merlin, I'm not speaking with an old man.  _

**_ I'm quite offended.  _ **

Their conversation sped by quick. Every part was enjoyable, drastically improving Harry's boredom, and even though the two were total strangers, Harry felt as if he knew Tom. As if they had met before. 

Of course, that was a silly thought. Tom was trapped inside a diary with no way out. Harry couldn't have met him before...

They chatted late into the night, far past the magnificent lavender sunset. The sky now submerged, a pitch-black painted with tremendously bright stars that twinkled whimsically. 

An enormous, drowsy yawn escaped his body, and Harry realized it was time for goodnights. 

_ Goodbye Tom.  _

**_ Goodbye Harry. I look forward to our next conversation. _ **

Harry grinned from ear to ear. A wave of warm and unexpected joy swarmed around him, pulling him in for a bear-like, affectionate hug. 

Perhaps he could escape this deserted island.


	2. Shocking and Unbearable

A calm and sinless sensation draped over Number Four, Privet Drive. The Dursleys were in a deep, refreshing slumber, unaware of Harry sneaking around the house. 

Silence floated across the entire house. 

One may consider the silence glacial or even terrifying, but Harry thought quite the contrary. The silence was warm, velvety, but mostly peaceful. 

Enormous darkness filled the house. 

The darkness wasn't scary like described in horror novels. It was  _ magical—a _ fierce and powerful type of magic. Something was charming about the night as if it was trying to lure someone into its shadowy depths and watch them fall into a treacherous trap. Still, it was magical. 

Harry couldn't make out anything, but he took this route so often it became second nature. He knew what cracks in the floor to avoid and where the furniture was, so he wouldn't accidentally bump into anything.

Harry crept across the kitchen floor's white tiles, praying his relatives wouldn't wake from their dreams. 

The kitchen wasn't entirely absorbed in darkness. The silvery full moon shined through the kitchen window, providing a mystic and ethereal light. 

A vicious growl ran through his stomach, sending a reminder he needed to eat. Which was true. The only meal he had was a can of cold tomato soup, which wasn't enough for a growing boy. 

Harry opened the fridge and found a plastic container with mashed potatoes from the previous night's dinner. Cold mashed potatoes were the farthest from appetizing, but it would have to do. 

Just as Harry grabbed a fork, he heard a maddening sound from outside.

An unmistakable sound. 

A dog barking. 

At first, the noises were sharp barks, but they quickly escalated to wild and angry howls, becoming ear-splitting. No matter how hard Harry tried, the barking was impossible to drain out. 

The barks sounded like they were directed towards him. As if he provoked the dog, setting it off into an uncontrollable, furious tantrum. Soon the barking mixed in with an explosive sound. A sound that brought devastating news.

Someone was stomping down the stairway, each step thunderous and full of sheer impassioned rage. 

_ No. No. No. _

The word rang through his mind. 

_ Run.  _

_ Run!  _

"Whose dog woke me up?" Uncle Vernon roared, voice rough and mighty. "That dog better shut the fuck up!" 

Harry's heartbeat was irregular, hammering rapidly against his chest. His body was shaking like a leaf in the cruel, violent wind. Harry tried controlling his breathing, but the task was impossible. Each breath he took was shaky and shallow. 

"Might as well get a drink while I'm up." 

_ Run! Hide! Do something!  _

But it was too late. 

He should have run or hide, but his feet stayed glued to the white tiles. The kitchen light flickered, projecting a harsh illumination, nearly blinding him. 

Blue eyes found his. The gaze direct, leaving an unsettling pit in Harry's stomach. "What are you doing up, boy?" 

Harry gulped. "What does it look like?" He held up the plastic container, his hand trembling a bit. 

"How dare you steal our food!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "You're a thief. A thief! You're going to regret it, boy!" 

"A thief?" Harry scoffed, offended by the untrue remark. "I cooked last night's dinner. I didn't see you helping." 

Regret startled inside him as Uncle Vernon's face flushed a drunken, enraged purple. 

_ Run!  _

The word rang for a final time. 

Uncle Vernon lunged towards him, shoving him against a wall.

***

A jolt of pain raced through his veins, the feeling shocking and unbearable. Harry tried sitting upright but fell back against the thin, tattered bedsheets. 

He needed something to ease the pain. 

A couple hours prior, he had searched the medicine cabinet for painkillers, but to his disappointment, the desired necessity was nowhere to be spotted. The second option was taking a trip down to the drugstore, but his legs ached far too badly to complete the journey. 

Harry pulled down the blanket and inspected his legs. There were purple-black bruises scattered across his legs, painting a grotesque picture. Some bruises were swollen and gruesome, others stung angrily, sending waves of constant excruciating agony along his body. 

If only there was something...

Something to dissolve the pain. 

But there was nothing. 

A great, unanswerable puzzle swarmed the majority of his thoughts. 

Who was he going to stay with? 

Harry wanted to stay at the Burrow and hang with the Weasleys, enjoying the rest of the summer days. 

Of course, there was a slight problem with his wish. 

A small tear trickled down his flushed cheek, but Harry quickly wiped it away. He was strong. His uncle wasn't going to stand in his way. 

A choir of birds started singing an energetic tune. Their voices harmonized beautifully as they called out to one another. 

Harry peeked outside his bedroom window, catching a glimpse of the sunrise. 

Vibrant shades of pink, orange, and yellow pervaded the sky. The fierce, golden rays of the sun beamed across the thin pink clouds and everything else below it. Eventually, the dazzling hues dissolved into a prominent blue. The clouds floating in the sky were now white and puffy. The sky was no longer filled with intensity but a peaceful sensation. 

It was mesmerizing. 

It was  _ beautiful _ . 

After observing the glorious scene, Harry began the long day ahead of him. He grabbed his Potions textbook and a roll of parchment. The assignment was to write an essay discussing the Draught of Living Death; however, the potion wasn't covered in last year's curriculum. Harry skimmed through each page, only to find no information regarding the potion. 

Bloody Snape. 

The man was probably spending his summer, amused, knowing his students couldn't complete their homework. Classic Snape.

This was hopeless. 

There was no way to complete the complex, profoundly stressful assignment. 

_ Unless...?  _

_ Hi Tom. Do you know anything about the Draught of Living Death?  _

**_ Of course, I do. Is there a particular reason you're asking?  _ **

_ I'm trying to finish my summer homework, but my Professor assigned homework on material that wasn't covered.  _

**_ Just read about it.  _ **

_ Wow, thanks for the help. I've tried to, but there's nothing about it in my potions textbook.  _

**_ Certainly, you have other books?  _ **

_ No. Why would I?  _

**_ You know, Harry, it's crucial to learn outside of school. Completing homework and studying for exams can only get you so far. You need to take the initiative by going the extra length.  _ **

_ God, you sound just like Hermione.  _

**_ Who? A girlfriend, perhaps?  _ **

_ No, I've never had a girlfriend. She's a friend who's a bit of an overachiever. People say she's the brightest witch her age.  _

**_ I was the top of my class.  _ **

_ Nerd. Now, are you going to help me?  _

**_ I don't know, Harry. What have you done to receive my help?  _ **

_ Let me guess you're a Slytherin.  _

**_ You're absolutely correct. What gave it away?  _ **

_ You Slytherins never help someone out of the goodness of your heart.  _

**_ And let me guess, you're a Gryffindor. _ **

_ What gave it away?  _

**_ Quite a few things. Your dislike for Slytherins, your stubbornness.  _ **

_ I'm not stubborn.  _

**_ See, you're proving my point. Alright, what do you need help with? _ **

_ I have to write an essay on the Draught of Living Death.  _

**_ That's it? Old Sluggy would provide more instructions than that.  _ **

_ Sluggy?  _

**_ Horace Slughorn, potions master during my years at Hogwarts.  _ **

_ That's quite the nickname.  _

**_ Quite. You won't brew this potion until your 6th year, I believe. Unless Hogwarts has changed the curriculum. However, I taught myself this potion in my 3rd year.  _ **

_ No, you didn't.  _

**_ Some say I'm a genius.  _ **

Tom explained the properties, ingredients, and steps to brewing the potion, and Harry was impressed by the wizard's ability to recite knowledge. Harry absorbed this new information, enabling him to quickly draft the essay, quill sailing across the parchment. 

_ Thank you for your help. Honestly, I probably would've failed.  _

**_ There's no need to flatter me, darling.  _ **

Without saying goodbyes, Harry shoved the diary away, ignoring the heat crawling upon his cheeks that left a stinging sensation. Frustrated with his uncalled for behavior, Harry progressed downstairs to fix breakfast for the Dursley's and the guest who was arriving shortly. 

_ It was just a ridiculous nickname—nothing to blush over _ , Harry scolded himself.

***

Donna Jones marched up the staircase and opened the first door on her left, convinced this was the bathroom. 

Expect it wasn't... 

The room was on the smaller side, a twin-sized bed consuming the preponderance of the confined space. On the far side of the room was a wooden bookshelf, consisting of a few books that weren't correctly placed on the shelf. Hanging on the cream-colored walls were photographs of a trio of teenagers. Donna swore a girl with bushy, brown hair waved at her, but it couldn't be. Photographs  _ don't _ move. 

After getting in a good look, Donna realized the room was  _ very  _ disorderly. Personal belongings, such as clothes and books, were dispersed across the floor. Moments of studying the unfamiliar place passed, and Donna noticed an unusual sight, something she should have seen the instant she burst open the door. 

Sitting on the bed was a teenage boy with black, untamed hair. He was writing in a small, black book, a glimmer of amusement pondering in his eyes. 

Donna gently sealed the door, hoping her presence went overlooked. She headed along the corridor, seeking the correct room.

A single question circled her thoughts. 

Who is this boy? 

The question remained nagging her, refusing to leave her thoughts until she was given a satisfactory answer. 

Donna needed to confront her friend on the matter. 

She needed to pry an explanation out of Petunia, but not just any answer would satisfy her.

She craved the truth.

After using the bathroom, Donna hurried into the dining room, anticipation exploding inside her. 

"Sorry I took so long," she said. "I have something to ask you," she added, nodding at her friend. 

"Of course. What is it?" Petunia asked. 

"Do you have another child?" 

"Nope! We only have our son, Dudley." Vernon proudly chimed in. He shifted to his son, giving him a firm pat on the back. 

Donna raised a brow, urging her friend to verify the declaration. Petunia gave a reluctant nod at her husband's words, but there was a conspicuous look in her eyes. 

_ Fear _ . She was afraid of something. She was hiding something. 

"So there isn't another teenage boy living in your house?" 

A deep, glacial stillness bundled them. The Dursleys transferred concerned glances to one another. 

"Well?" Donna spoke after several long, frustrating moments. 

"I-I don't understand what you mean... You must be mistaken," Petunia said. 

Donna shook her head. "I know what I saw. Now, tell me the truth, Petunia." 

"That's our... nephew," Petunia admitted, accepting her defeat. 

_ Bingo!  _

"Why isn't he having dinner with us?" 

Silence. 

More silence. 

Donna continued eating her breakfast. 

"Meeting strangers upsets him," Vernon eventually answered. 

Donna nodded, unconvinced with the lousy answer. "Petunia, you mentioned the three of you are moving to Scotland. Surely your nephew is coming along, right?" 

"He isn't-" 

"No? You can't abandon the poor kid!" 

"He attends a boarding school, so he'll only need a place to stay for the rest of the summer," Petunia said defensively. 

"That doesn't make it better. I'm very disappointed with your actions, Petunia. You're his guardians; therefore, it's your job to take care of him."

Donna glanced around the table, absorbing the Dursley's aghast expressions. She considered herself a kind and caring woman, that was until someone crossed the line, and once somebody did, a terrifying monster launched out of her, letting others know to not mess with her. 

"I have to get going, but I'll visit again shortly. Thank you for __ breakfast." 

_ Well, wasn't that a pleasant breakfast,  _ She thought bitterly. 

She had a plan to construct. 

A brilliant plan that needed to succeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Any type of feedback is strongly appreciated. I’m new to writing and would like to know how I’m doing so far. :) 
> 
> I plan on updating this fic weekly but who knows. <3


	3. Freedom

“Go answer the door, boy!” Uncle Vernon ordered from his seat at the dining room table.

Holding back a groan, Harry poured steaming, fresh coffee into his uncle’s mug, watching the dark liquid rise to the brim before setting off to the front entrance. Not knowing who to expect, Harry turned the golden knob, opening the arched, oaken door.

On the opposite side stood a short middle-aged woman. She had beauteous, wavy dark locks that fell to her shoulders and alarming blue eyes, resembling the ocean when the sun sparkled over the massive body of saltwater.

“Hello!” She greeted, voice full of an overpowering excitement. “You must be Petunia’s nephew.” A warm, broad smile beamed across her features, making her seem joyful from his presence. 

It was  _ baffling  _ …

The Dursleys kept his entire existence a secret. Whenever guests arrived, Harry was locked up in his bedroom, compelled to stay silent, so nobody would discover the wizard living at Number Four. This message was made clear after the Masons fled from their disastrous visit.

So… How did this woman recognize him? 

Very confused, Harry nodded. “Yes, I am. My name’s Harry Potter,” he said, feeling it was polite to give a proper introduction.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Donna Jones, a close friend of your aunt. I’m here to discuss something important with you and your relatives.”

Discuss something… with him?  _ Strange. _

This didn’t make sense. 

Harry seriously contemplated slamming the door and running away, and then, informing the Dursleys, the doorbell ringing was a mistake. Of course, that would be awfully rude… And idiotic… And cowardly. After all, he was a Gryffindor, the house that valued bravery. Indeed, he could hold a conversation with a stranger. 

Still… What did this woman want from him? What would a total stranger want to discuss with him? 

Unsure of what to say or do, Harry stood still, trying to come up with a reply. “Please come inside, Ms. Jones.” Harry shuffled aside, enabling Donna to enter the house.

“Please call me Donna, dear. Now, where is your aunt?”

Harry gently closed the door. “The Dursleys are having breakfast in the dining room.” 

Donna gave an inconspicuous nod and followed Harry down the long, white-walled hallways leading to the dining room, babbling about tales of her cat the entire journey. The cat wasn’t the most pleasant pet from what Harry collected. Its primary entertainment source was hissing and scratching at whoever crossed its path.

_ Cheerful. _

That was Harry’s first impression of Donna.

Ripples of everlasting happiness bundled around her as she strolled down the hallways, bouncing lightly in her steps. Her good-natured, vast grin was glowing, radiating positive energy. How could somebody so pleasant be close with miserable beings like the Dursleys?

They entered the spacious, dreary room, his relatives oblivious to their presence. The Dursleys sat around a large, rectangular table, relishing a plate of bacon and eggs. Uncle Vernon was reciting monotonous tales of past events at his old workplace, earning sour, disgruntled glares from Dudley, who was clearly bored with the topic of drills.

“Hello!” Donna called, giving a great, cheery wave to the family seated around the table. Aunt Petunia looked up from her plate, acknowledging her friend by forcing a small, weak smile. There was something unmistakable behind the smile she bestowed.

_ Fear.  _ Aunt Petunia was fearful. As if she detected an inhuman monster creeping around the corner, planning to attack everyone inside the room.

Donna slipped into a chair across from his aunt, but Harry stayed glued to his spot next to the window.

Harry surveyed the streets, watching cars pass by at alarming rates and families stroll down the sidewalk, chatting among themselves. On the opposite side of the road, Mrs. Figg was taking her morning walk, cradling a large tabby cat in her arms.

Then, he noticed a strange sight. A black dog was parading along the sidewalk, catching glimpses of Number Four every so often.

Sirius…? No, it couldn’t be, but that black ball of fur looked far too familiar for Harry’s liking.

“I have something to discuss with all of you,” Donna announced, shattering the thick silence.

“What is it?” Aunt Petunia asked.

“I’d like Harry to spend the rest of the summer at my place.”

Harry spun around, facing the group of people.

He wanted to speak, say something, anything, but words couldn’t roll off his tongue. Instead, he let out an incoherent, high-pitched gasp, hearing the Dursleys give an identical reaction. Millions of thoughts and questions exploded across his mind, but his mouth stayed ajar in shock, right words unable to form.

“W-what?” Harry whispered.

Donna faced him, eyes twinkling, reminding him of Dumbledore. “Yes. I’d like you to spend the rest of the summer at my place,” she repeated. “I know your relatives are moving to Scotland and plan on leaving you behind. I’m willing to take you in.”

_ Why?  _ Why was Donna doing this?

“What do you say, Harry?”

“No! No! He will not be staying with you!” Uncle Vernon yelled, slamming a fist against the table, causing Dudley’s glass of orange juice to almost topple over. 

“You’re abandoning the poor kid. Why do you care if he stays with me?” Donna snapped, clearly unafraid to put Uncle Vernon in his place.

Harry nearly allowed a soft chuckle to escape his throat, but he plunged the sound down before laughter interrupted the brief argument, generating even more indignation from his uncle.

It was amusing, watching someone stand up to his uncle as most people were far too afraid to upset the man. A wave of courage struck Harry, convincing him to speak his mind.

“I agree,” he said.

Uncle Vernon looked over at him, seeming to have forgotten Harry was still in the room. “Boy,” he warned.

“Boy? I’m positive my birth name is Harry. Harry James Potter, to be precise.”

Before their squabble could continue, Donna spoke up. “What do you say, Harry?” She repeated her question.

_ What do you say, Harry?  _ The question flooded his thoughts, blocking out the ability to reason. Donna was a complete stranger, and Harry knew well enough not to blindly trust someone he just met, but the offer was very tempting. Still, Donna had no reason for this compassionate act.

“I’ll stay with you,” Harry blurted out before further thinking the proposal through. 

_ Oh fuck. What if I made the wrong decision? _

_ Anywhere is better than with the Dursleys. _

_ But what if…? _

_ At least you’re out of this hell. _

_ What if Donna is a kidnapper? Or... _

_ No. You’re away from the Dursleys. That’s what matters. _

“Great! I live in a small town outside of London, so the drive should be around an hour depending on the traffic.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. I just need to pack up first.”

“You go do that. In the meantime, I need to have a chat with your relatives.”

Harry dashed up the staircase, eager to share the news with Tom. Although… he’d have to start from the very beginning and share the story of his abandonment. Yes, that was private information he preferred not to give away, but Tom deemed himself a trustworthy person, or at least Harry believed so.

This was it.

_ Freedom. _

Freedom from Number Four, Privet Drive.

Freedom from the Dursleys.

It truly was a dream becoming reality.

***

The next few days whirled by quick.

Harry spent most of his free time relaxing in the garden or writing in the diary, enjoying each light-hearted conversation they shared. One evening, Harry was in a particularly unpleasant mood and needed to let out his built-up anger, so he ranted about his friends’ lack of communication. But Tom didn’t mind; he just emphasized Harry’s troubles.

It was like having a friend with him at all times.

Harry adored Donna’s house.

The house looked like a cottage straight out of a fairytale from a picture book made for young children. The walls were made of evenly sized grey stones with immense, generous vines swirling around. The vines reminded Harry of Devil’s Snare. The house wasn’t huge, but Harry couldn’t care less. It was friendly and welcoming, the qualities needed to build a  _ home.  _

The house was planted on a small field, isolated from the neighboring houses. The area comprised green hues that lightened and darkened in the sun rays, and the grass waved like the ocean may on a sunny, windy day. 

Shortly after Harry’s arrival, he noticed the flower garden. It contained bright red roses that rocked and swayed in the breeze. Their elegant scent was enough to lure anyone in, causing them to linger in the garden and discover more of the marvelous sights. There were also golden sunflowers that overshadowed the other plants, claiming themselves as royalty. 

Near the flowerbeds was a perfectly circular pond, which Harry greatly admired. Sometimes, he would sit down on the soft grass, mesmerizingly watch the water flow carelessly as he read a muggle novel Donna lent him. 

Most of all, Harry loved Donna’s cooking.

Yesterday morning, Donna cooked a batch of chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. They were insanely fluffy and packed with heavenly sweetness, making each bite memorable. The glistening, melted chocolate was runny like a sauce, adding a bittersweet flavor to the delicious pancakes. Harry had to admit Donna’s cooking might top Mrs. Weasley’s. 

Harry peered outside the guest window. Stars lit up the sky like snowflakes falling onto the pale ground. The massive blanket of darkness was  _ angry, bitter _ , but mostly  _ mysterious. _

Lately, sleep was a difficult task. Whenever Harry dozed off, haunting memories engulfed his mind, waking him up to miserable, raw panic. Harry refused to welcome these dreams, so he stayed up each night, writing in the diary to pass the time. It truly was pathetic.

Harry knew this wasn’t healthy as the human body required sleep to function, but he couldn’t face the nightmares… He couldn’t meet his fears.

Really, it was silly.

At the end of the school year, he battled Voldemort face-to-face, but now he was unwilling to sleep all because of that same man.

The man who killed his parents.

The man who caused his life to continually be on the edge of death.

The man who caused misery for so many others…

Unwilling to drift off, Harry pulled out the diary and hastily wrote. 

_ Hi Tom. _

**_ Hello Harry. Eager to talk to me again? I know I’m quite irresistible.  _ **

_ No, it’s not that… It’s just… I can’t sleep, and I need something to do.  _

**_ Understandable. I’m also a light sleeper. How is it at Donna’s? I still can’t believe your relatives abandoned you. _ **

_ Life’s excellent at Donna’s. Plus, she’s a fantastic cook. And before you ask, she’s not a kidnapper. The Dursley’s are the worst sort of people imaginable. You wouldn’t understand.  _

**_ Actually, I can understand. I grew up in a filthy muggle orphanage with children who bullied me because I could perform magic. I begged Dumbledore to let me stay at Hogwarts, but the old fool insisted I go back each summer. _ **

_ Wait… you’re an orphan?  _

**_ Yes, I thought the answer was made clear. My mother died while giving birth, and my father left me to rot in that living hell.  _ **

_ That’s horrible, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m also an orphan. A dark wizard murdered both of my parents when I was a baby.  _

**_ I prefer others not to sympathize with my troubles. I was wondering… is there a particular reason you return to the Dursley’s every summer. Surely, you’d find somewhere else to stay?  _ **

_ I would, but Dumbledore insists I return each summer.  _

**_ Why is that? Have you ever questioned his decision?  _ **

_ I haven’t, but I always assumed Dumbledore had good intentions.  _

**_ That old fool.  _ **

_ Dumbledore isn’t a fool. In fact, he’s far from a fool… He’s the greatest sorcerer in the world.  _

**_ Surely, there’s someone more powerful than Dumbledore?  _ **

_ Nope, there isn’t. Although… Voldemort wishes he was the greatest sorcerer in the world.  _

**_ Voldemort?  _ **

_ Oh yes, Lord Voldemort. Also known as the Dark Lord by his followers, but most are too afraid to speak his name. He’s the darkest wizard in the entire world… Probably the darkest to walk the earth. He’s sort of creepy. I mean… the guy looks like a snake.  _

**_ Interesting.  _ **

_ Interesting. He’s more frightening than interesting! Voldemort wants me dead! Wiped off the face of the earth! He even murdered my parents! And since I survived the killing curse, the whole wizarding world thinks I’m some savior, but I’m nothing more than an average wizard.  _

**_ There’s no way you survived the killing curse. That’s utterly unheard of.  _ **

_ Oh shit. Never mind. I may have said too much.  _

**_ Please continue, Harry. I find your story quite fascinating. Besides, I’m stuck inside my diary. I can’t do anything with the information you feed me.  _ **

_ Alright, fine. The night Voldemort killed my parents, he attempted to kill me as a baby, but the killing curse bounded off me, and Voldemort died that night. Ever since I’m known as The Boy Who Lived.  _

**_ Is Voldemort still dead? _ **

_ Sadly, he’s not. At the end of the school year, he resurrected, and I got to watch the entire show. Front row seats included. Anyway, I should probably get some sleep. Goodnight Tom. _

The following morning Harry woke up to soft knocks on the bedroom door. Yawning mightily, Harry pulled a wonderfully soft blanket over his head, brushing fingers along the woolen material.

Letting out another yawn, Harry fumbled, for his glasses on the side table. God, he really was as blind as a bat. Once retrieving the desired object, Harry slipped out of bed, stumbling a bit as his vision came into focus.

Harry opened the white, wooden door, discovering Donna on the opposing side, holding a platter stacked with sandwiches.

“I would say good morning, but I believe it’s now the afternoon. So, good afternoon, Harry. I hope you slept well.” 

Afternoon? Surely, he hadn’t slept for  _ that  _ long, right…? Harry quickly glanced at the analog clock hanging above the bed, and sure enough, it was twelve o’clock. 

“I slept well,” Harry answered. This wasn’t a lie. He had a fantastic night’s sleep. For the first time in a couple weeks, the nightmares vanished from his mind. It was relieving.

“I brought you lunch.” Donna smiled, nudging the platter towards Harry. “Earlier, I called you down for breakfast, but you never answered, so I decided to check up on you. It seems as if you just woke up.”

Harry took the platter, inspecting his meal. The sandwiches looked scrumptious. The filling was layers of ham, cheese, tomato, and lettuce. Oozing out the sides were generous amounts of mustard. The bread was a golden brown, topped with sesame seeds.

“Thank you,” Harry said, setting the platter down on the side table.

“There’s no need for thank you’s, Harry. As long as you stay here, I’ll cook for the both of us.”

“Seriously, I need to thank you. Thank you for giving me a place to stay when the Dursleys wouldn’t bring me along to Scotland,” Harry said, each word coming from the bottom of his heart. “You didn’t have to… But you did. So thank you.”

Surprising Harry, Donna pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, quickly letting go after a few seconds. “It’s no problem, Harry. I was doing what any good person would do.”

Just before closing the door, Donna’s eyes lit up as if she remembered something significant. “I almost forgot!” She exclaimed. “Tomorrow, I’m taking a trip down to London to get my hair done, and I’m going out for lunch after. I was wondering if you’d like to come along… Of course, you can go off and do your own thing while I’m at the Salon.”

Harry nodded. “Sounds great,” he replied. After all, he’d been cooped up for the past few weeks, and he wasn’t going to ditch the opportunity of something entertaining to occupy him.

Once Donna left, Harry climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket over his body. He reached for a sandwich from the platter, but as doing so, he noticed something peculiar. There was a small piece of parchment sticking out from under the tray of sandwiches. Puzzled, Harry snatched up the parchment, closely examining the recent finding.

The material was thick yet smooth like glass, and the parchment was folded into thirds. Opening the letter, Harry rapidly scanned through, searching for the name of the writer. The handwriting was quite sloppy as somebody was given a short amount of time to complete the letter. 

_ Dear Harry Potter, _

_ You must run away.  _

Harry stared blankly at those four simple words, unsure of what to think. Who sent him this letter? There wasn’t even a signature. Surely, Ron or Hermione or anyone he was close with would’ve indicated they wrote the letter, but whoever this mysterious person was decided against that.

Perhaps this was some kind of joke? Maybe someone like Draco Malfoy came up with a prank to scare him.  _ You must run away.  _ Why would this be? Perhaps a Death Eater was coming to attack him, or maybe Voldemort was planning to kill her for once and for all. 

Harry reread those four words, trying to come up with a reasonable conclusion. If this anonymous person was correct, he would need to act fast. After all, the worst-case scenario was he did absolutely nothing, and trouble came his way. Harry glanced over the parchment a final time before tucking the letter away. 

Tomorrow he’d be in muggle London, and no Death Eater would expect him to be roaming through the streets, hiding in a crowd packed with muggles. Besides, there was no way any Death Eater or even Voldemort knew he stayed in a small house with a kind, muggle woman. He should be safe… for now. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. In two days, he would pack up, say his goodbyes to Donna, catch the night bus, and take a trip down to Diagon Alley. From there, he could stay in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. 

Satisfied with the plan, Harry continued eating his lunch.

***

Chattering between buyers and sellers and old friends catching up filled the bustling streets of London. Harry found himself drowning in a crowd, feeling like a raindrop joining the ocean.

The crowd flowed carelessly as it steered around obstacles in its path. Harry glanced about, studying the incredible sights of the city.

Skyscrapers towered in the vivid blue sky, reflecting a yellow of the morning sun. Taxis and other vehicles raced between red traffic lights, trying to reach their desired destination as quick as possible. Shops decorated the streets, their bright signs shining luminously.

The weather was perfect. Under the summer sun, Harry felt the warmth of golden, fiery rays beating onto his skin. The sky was bathed a dazzling blue full of vagrant clouds that formed indistinguishable pictures. A warm breeze soared through the air, messing up Harry’s hair even more, but he didn’t care.

Harry continued strolling down the sidewalk, overhearing conversations between others.

The pavement looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, hitting the cement hard enough to form a web of cracks.

Whenever Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took shopping trips down in London, Harry was forced to stay in the car or at Privet Drive, so this was his first actual view of the city.

Continuing down the street, Harry heard a band performing off in the distance. The lively melody was enough to cause Harry to sway his body to upbeat music. Notes floated through the soft breeze, falling out to passers to stop by and enjoy the show.

“That dog knocked me over!” Someone shouted, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

He turned around, and sure enough, a woman with silver hair was sprawled across the pavement; several people were rushing to her aid. A black dog was bounding down the street, its dark eyes gleaming with excitement and tail wagging from side to side. The dog pushed its way through the massive crowd, not caring if it knocked another person over.

Harry gasped, recognizing the dog at once.

The same dog that was spying on Number Four…

“Excuse me!” Harry called. “That’s my dog!”

Harry sprinted through the crowd, maneuvering around barriers in his path as if this was an obstacle course. When he reached the dog, he crouched down to the ground, allowing the black ball of fur to leap into his arms.

“I can’t believe you followed me here, Padfoot,” he murmured into the dog’s ear. In response, Sirius let out a sharp bark and nuzzled his head against Harry’s neck.

Harry got up and headed down the street, searching for an unpopulated alley, occasionally petting the dog’s soft coat.

Eventually, Harry found the right place.

The alleyway was straight like a drinking straw and almost as narrow. Harry walked along the rough cobbled street, his feet beginning to ache. The sounds from the hustling streets echoed off the brick walls of the alleyway. Harry glanced around, double-checking nobody was about and gently placed the dog on the ground, watching Sirius transform into his human self.

Wasting no time with greetings, Harry jumped straight into the points he needed to make clear. “Why are you following me around London? You even followed me while I was staying with the Dursleys! I bet you woke Uncle Vernon up, causing him to get angry at me because I was sneaking around the house!”

Shaking his head, Sirius sighed. “I’ll admit I was following you both times, but I needed to make sure you’re alright. A few days ago at Privet Drive, I saw you leave with some woman. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Harry groaned and stomped his foot into the ground, dragging a trail of cobblestones. “Alright,” he spat. “Were you barking in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe…”

Harry shot an annoyed glare. “Honest answers only.” 

“Fine, I was, but you can’t blame me. Some boy was provoking me!” 

Harry didn’t mention it, but he was pretty sure that ‘some boy’ was Dudley or one of his gang members. 

“You could’ve been caught,” Harry pointed out. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but you’re considered a mass murderer to most of the wizarding world. You can’t risk your exposure just to make sure I’m safe.” 

“But… I care about you, Harry—”

“Clearly not enough to write to me. I haven’t received a single letter from you, Ron and Hermione. It’s nice to know you guys appreciate me.” 

Harry mentally slapped himself for acting so irrational. Sure, he was angry from the lack of communication, but that earned him no right to take his anger out on others. Although a single letter would’ve been nice. 

“Dumbledore’s orders,” Sirius muttered. 

“What?” 

“Nobody was allowed to contact you under Dumbledore’s orders. He was concerned Death Eaters would intercept the letters,” Sirius explained. 

Harry nodded, acting as if he understood Dumbledore’s reasoning, but deep inside, he was bubbling with rage. Dumbledore couldn’t just dictate whether his friends could write to him or not. And a heads up would’ve been nice, so he could’ve prepared himself for a letter-less summer. 

“You’ll be seeing your friends again soon,” Sirius said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll have to see, kid.” A knowingly smirk danced across his face, hinting something exciting was about to occur. 

***

“ _ Avada Kedavra. _ ” 

It happened in an instant. A flash of blinding green light soared through the air, and Harry heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him. Harry’s eyes darted down to the dry grass, glimpsing at Cedric’s pale, lifeless body. Cedric’s grey eyes showed no emotion, and his mouth was agape with shock.

_ No. No. No.  _

Cedric didn’t deserve to die.

Harry wanted to block out the tragic sight, but images of Cedric’s lifeless body cursed him.

Harry wanted to scream. An inarticulate, high-pitched scream that would let the villagers hear his agony. He tried to attack the man in the cloak, punishing him for the terrible deed he performed.

If only he reached the Cup first… Then maybe…

Harry had little time to grasp the event. A man wearing a tattered, black cloak dragged him towards a marble headstone. Before Harry was slammed against the stone, he noticed a name on the gravestone.

T O M R I D D L E

A flare of darkness danced before him. 

Harry found himself tied up against the headstone.

He struggled against the restraints, but nothing he did worked. Panic flooded through him, and Harry began kicking his legs frantically, praying a miracle would transpire. 

In front of him, Voldemort was slowly pacing back and forth, muttering something under his breath. Perhaps a spell? Or maybe Dark Lords find entertainment in talking to themselves?

Harry spotted a snake slithering around Voldemort’s feet, slowly making its way onto the brittle grass. His direct gaze refused to leave the creature, as he was afraid the reptile might launch itself toward him and bite him, causing venom to inject into his body and finish him off.

The moment of silence burst into pieces as Voldemort began speaking, his voice high, clear, and icy.

“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” Voldemort hissed. “A muggle and a fool... very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death...”

Voldemort grinned wickedly, leaving an unsettling feeling in Harry’s stomach. Nothing good can make a man that evil smile. 

Those crimson eyes flicked with amusement as they bonded over to a hill. Harry, too glanced over, examining the stylish mansion placed on the steep, grassy hillside. 

“You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn’t like magic, my father... 

“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name... Tom Riddle...”

Harry woke up with a jolt...


	4. Bitterly Cold

Visions of the dream vanished, dissolving into frantic thoughts that blossomed across Harry’s mind. Harry surveyed the bedroom, trying to latch onto reality as he concluded the previous images were only a dream - a tense and frightening dream based on actual events, but still a dream. 

His breaths were dangerously fast, and it took great force to control them. After moments of attempting to calm himself down, Harry slipped on his glasses and began sorting through the fairly anxious thoughts that were growing into enormous flowers as his nerves increased. 

The dream… It began with Cedric’s death, followed up by an uncanny man wearing a tattered, black cloak. This very man was Peter Pettigrew, better known as Wormtail, or in Harry’s eyes, a traitor who caused James and Lily Potter’s death. 

Wormtail had shoved him up against a marble headstone, but before anything else had befallen, Harry caught sight of something on the gravestone. A name. The name Tom Riddle. 

_ Strange.  _ The only person Harry knew with that name was trapped inside the pages of a small, black book,  _ not  _ dead. 

Shortly after, there was a murky blaze, and he found himself tied up against the headstone with no way to escape. In front of him, Voldemort was traversing back and forth, reciting a tale… A tale of his parents. 

Both of Voldemort’s parents died. His mother passed while giving birth, and Voldemort murdered his father. The last part didn’t shock Harry too much. After all, Voldemort insisted his father was  _ a muggle and a fool _ , and with the dark wizard’s distaste for muggles and goal for pureblood supremacy, the information shouldn’t surprise many. 

Harry thought there was a vital piece of the story absent, so he resumed to retrieving elements from the long, familiar spiel. 

It struck him like a quaffle hitting his face as he sped through the air, searching for a small golden ball. Voldemort declared he was named after his father, which could only mean one thing. Voldemort’s real name was  _ Tom Riddle _ . 

_ No… _ _ No…  _

No.

This  _ couldn’t _ be true. 

Harry refused to believe this was true. Harry  _ refused  _ to believe he was having constant, causal conversations with his mortal enemy. 

Except, too much added up. 

Tom shared information about his parents, which gave a similar explanation of the Dark Lord’s tale. Tom’s mother perished when giving birth, and his father deserted him, leaving the boy to grow up in a muggle orphanage. 

To Harry’s last strand of hope, there were some complications with his theory. Tom was trapped inside a diary,  _ not  _ roaming about Britain formulating schemes to destroy the Boy Who Lived, or at least Harry aspired to believe so. And according to Harry’s limited knowledge of magic, no person could be in two places at once. 

Second, Tom was a common name. Surely, there must be  _ hundreds _ or even  _ thousands _ of people named Tom Riddle. 

Lastly, there was a large age difference between the two wizards, so Tom would have to be a younger version of the Dark Lord if they were the same person. 

The only way to unravel the answer to his desired question was by confronting the individual involved in the speculation. 

Although Harry could only imagine how entertaining that discussion would go.  _ Hello Tom. By any chance, are you some crazy Dark Lord?  _ Harry imagined himself writing, nearly laughing at the thought. 

Harry needed to act fast. The best option was throwing the book away, but Harry didn’t like the sound of that for an unexplainable reason. Nevertheless, Harry craved the truth. He needed to know who Tom Riddle truly was. He needed to confront the sixteen-year-old wizard of his suspicions, not between the pages of a small, black book, but face-to-face. 

Deep inside, Harry knew not to jeopardize anything, but after a short, internal dispute with himself, he grabbed the diary and wrote an urgent request. 

_ Hi Tom. Is it possible I can meet you in person?  _

Harry knew it was a ridiculous question, but then perhaps his wish wasn’t too farfetched if the diary could communicate back. 

**_ Hello Harry. I would like to meet you in person, but I am afraid I don’t possess enough magic. _ **

_ What do you mean by not enough magic? _

**_ Well, you see Harry, whenever you write inside my diary, I gain some magic.  _ **

_ How is that possible? Wait… Are you stealing my magic?  _

**_ I would not consider stealing your magic, but if you’d appreciate an honest answer, then yes, a little, but hardly enough where your magical ability will be harmed.  _ **

_ You can’t do that.  _

**_ Please understand this is not intentional. I would never purposely do so, but this is just how my diary works.  _ **

_ But… you can’t… You can’t do this... I don’t care how your stupid diary works; just don’t steal my magic.  _

**_ Oh, Harry. I would _ ** **_ hardly call it stealing, more so borrowing. Besides, if you want to meet me, I’m afraid this must happen.  _ **

_ I do want to meet you. But isn’t there a better way?  _

**_ There isn’t. But for your understanding, I am not harming you in any way. Understand?  _ **

_ Why should I trust you? For all, I know you’re lying to me.  _

**_ I don’t have any reason to lie to you.  _ **

_ I know more about you than you think, Tom.  _

**_ Do you?  _ **

_ Yes. You’re keeping secrets from me.  _

**_ Would you like an entire life story right now? _ **

_ Well no… You know what? I might just throw your diary away.  _

**_ Are you now?  _ **

_ Yes.  _

**_ You would not.  _ **

_ Oh, but I would.  _

**_ Fine. I couldn’t care less. Did you think I enjoyed wasting my time conversing with an almost fifteen-year-old wizard?  _ **

_ Goodbye, Tom, or should I say Lord Voldemort? _

Harry blankly stared at those last few words before they disappeared, leaving the pages empty as if nobody had ever written across them. Instead of waiting for Tom’s reply, Harry shut the diary and shoved it to the bottom of his disorganized trunk. 

Was he stupid? Stupid for writing in a book that communicated back. Stupid for blindly trusting someone he recently met, and this very person might be the Dark Lord.

Harry wanted to convince himself he wasn’t stupid, yet all of his actions declared otherwise. No logical person would have made the choices he had. 

Most of all, why was he hanging onto the diary like it was some prized possession? It was as if someone if the back of his mind was telling him, scolding him, warning him to  _ never  _ throw the diary away. 

Harry sighed. 

_ Did you think I wanted to waste time conversing with an almost fifteen-year-old boy?  _

Those words rang through the tense air, embedding themselves into Harry’s mind, leaving him with a distant, curious pain. Despite knowing Tom for barely a week, those words scarred Harry… more than they should have….

Was this true? Did Tom regret all of their previous conversations? 

Harry could not believe he once considered Tom to be a  _ friend. _

_ It was like having a friend with him at all times. _

Harry sighed. 

Everything changed in an instant. 

Abruptly, the eternal, blinding sunlight that crept through the window vanished, causing the bedroom to darken. Outside, the usual azureus hues of the sky and the sun-kissed clouds muted to dullness. Grey carpeted the sky, so cars passing by needed headlights, and the street lamps would soon light up, providing their luminous glow. 

_ Cold.  _

Coldness draped over the earth, overruling the hot, moist summer air. The coldness wasn’t one of a crisp autumn day where sweaters were worn, but a bitter winter day where heavy jackets were necessary. 

The frigid air had its way of keeping Harry at the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it was replaced. An icy shudder ran down his spine, forcing him to stay warm by embracing numbing hands around himself. 

The iciness advanced through his body, meeting the warmth of his blood. It washed over his skin, continuing to race through his veins until reaching the beat of his heart. 

There was no explanation for the sudden change in the atmosphere, but Harry could only make assumptions about what was occurring. The pain in his gut brought  _ anything _ but good news. 

Harry inched closer to the window, rubbing his palms together.

There it was. 

On the opposite side was a scabby grey, cloaked figure whose face was completely hidden beneath its hood. A glistening, slimy-like hand reached towards the window, those spidery fingers closed around the bottom rail, trying to open the window.

Without thinking twice, Harry slipped a hand into the pocket of his oversized jeans that once belonged to Dudley and pulled out his wand. The familiar rush of magic surged through him as his fingers tightened around the holly wood. 

Around the same time, the window finally opened, allowing even more coldness to break through the bedroom. But Harry was ready. The dementors wouldn’t defeat him like they had before. 

_ Happiness. The _ absence of all negative emotions, and that’s just what Harry needed. All fear, sadness, and anger needed to wash away, so an intense joy could replace them. 

A happy memory. He needed a happy memory.

The familiar image of his parents rose to the surface of his mind. His parents alive and full of delight, cheering him on this journey called life. 

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry shouted. 

A silvery light burst from his wand. The familiar stag charged at the crowd of dementors, chasing them out of sight. 

Harry sighed in relief and tucked his wand away before blackness overtook his world before he noticed the tawny owl that swooped through the window and dropped off a piece of parchment. 

Moments passed, and Harry finally awoke from the short blackout. He rolled over and seized the parchment. After opening the letter, Harry immediately scanned through, eager to see if Ron, Hermione, or even Sirius had written to him. After all, Sirius mentioned they’d be seeing one another shortly. 

_ Dear Mr. Potter, _

_ We have received information that you performed the Patronus Charm thirty minutes past nine this morning in an area surrounded by muggles. _

_ You have broken the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. _

_ Since you have received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A. M. on August 12th. _

_ Hoping you are well, _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Mafalda Hopkirk _

_ Improper use of magic office _

_ Ministry of Magic. _

This was it.

He was expelled from Hogwarts, and he was never going back. Soon, the Ministry would destroy his wand, and he could never perform magic again. He would no longer be a wizard but a squib. 

_ Crash. _

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry spun around and glanced about the bedroom, making sure nothing had fallen over or broke. Thankfully nothing had, but that didn’t stop him from questioning the peculiar sound. 

_ Crash.  _

There it was again. 

Anxious to identify the source of the noise, Harry exited the guest bedroom and tore down the stairway, the slip of parchment clutched tightly around his right hand, wand tucked away in case of an emergency.

Harry figured the centerpiece, a vase full of soft pink flowers, had fallen off the kitchen table and shattered, but when he entered the room, the sight before him was much more. Much more bizarre… Much more  _ terrifying _ . 

The gigantic, grotesque vase  _ had  _ broke. The vase was tilted to the side, and some flowers had escaped their home, now decorating the spotless white tablecloth. Fragments of crystal material garnished the cold tiled floor. 

But that wasn’t all. 

Scintillating flares of red, yellow, and blue lights flashed across the room, striking whatever hindrances traversed its route. 

“Not today, Malfoy!” Someone yelled victoriously. 

Harry’s eyes darted over the room, locating the source of the voice, a woman with bubblegum pink hair. A vivid gush of purple light launched toward her, but she swiftly veered out of the way. Instead, the curse struck the kitchen fridge, ricocheted off, and was steering in Harry’s direction. 

But before the spell could reach him and execute its power, Harry sank to the floor and rolled into a ball, shielding his head with his hands. Above him, the sound of glass shattering chimed across the room, but nobody else seemed to care enough to discern. In fact, everybody was too engaged in the battle to detect the presence of the almost fifteen-year-old wizard. 

Harry scooted backward until his back hit a wall. From this location, he had an unhindered view of the battle. There were four people altogether, some of which Harry recognized. He recalled seeing two of the individuals the night of Voldemort’s returning, Lucius Malfoy and a wizard with dark hair and pale blue eyes who he believed was MacNair - the man who would’ve executed Buckbeak if not for a time turner. 

Standing next to the pink-haired woman was Sirius Black. Harry wanted to call out to him, say something, anything, but he knew crouching against a wall in an extremely uncomfortable position was the safest place to be. 

Harry watched them cast spells left and right, determined to defeat their opponents… their  _ enemies _ . Flashes from spells, curses, and powerful jinxes whirled around the room, leaving Harry dazed as he tried catching all of the thrilling yet  _ wicked _ battles. He had no clue how the duel started or why these people were in Donna’s house, but Harry was too caught up in the moment to think straight. 

“Stupefy!” Sirius fired the spell, and Harry watched a flare of red fly toward MacNair, hitting the wizard square in the chest, as he hadn’t blocked the spell quick enough. The dark wizard collapsed to the floor, appearing almost lifeless, but a simple stunning charm could never bring that much damage. 

Many minutes passed, and the duel was still on, just as intense as ever. Even though Malfoy was a coward and an evil man, Harry had to admit he was a skilled duelist. 

“Cruci-”

On second thought-

Harry got up and ran to the middle of the kitchen without thinking twice. “Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted. 

Malfoy’s wand slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor, and before the wizard could perceive the previous incident, Harry shot a second spell. “Petrificus Totalus!” 

Perhaps it was the recently sprouted anger or maybe years of hatred for the dark wizard, but the magic that sprang from his wand was the strongest, most powerful magic he had ever performed. A warm, glowing sensation curled around his fingertips, flowed through his bloodstream, and wrapped around his entire body, pulling him into an enormous embrace. The magic felt unfamiliar, as if it wasn’t his but someone else’s. 

White light struck Malfoy, causing his arms to snap at his sides. He swayed back and forth until finally dropping to the floor. 

“Harry!” 

He turned around and glanced up, watching his godfather’s lips curl into a smile, not only full of happiness but  _ pride.  _ “Nice job. James would’ve been proud of you.” 

Lost for words, Harry forced a weak smile in return, finding himself unable to look away from the stiff bodies lying on the tiled floor. There were millions of questions he wanted to ask, should have asked, but he just continued smiling. 

“Go pack up. We’re leaving shortly.” 

Harry found himself nodding, not bothering to ask where or why, but he headed up to the guest bedroom, ready to leave Donna’s and enter the magical world again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to school I have no time to write 😎
> 
> Anyways… I don’t like this chapter, but I’m really excited to start writing the next chapter.


	5. A Birthday Surprise

“Oh Harry, It’s good to see you.” Mrs. Weasley grinned as she rushed toward Harry. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a bear-like yet affectionate hug. Mrs. Weasley quickly let go, face swarming with sheer anger. Her expression reminded Harry of when Ron, Fred, and George got in trouble for sneaking out and flying the car. 

“What. Did. I Tell. You.” 

Harry turned around. Sirius was slouched against the front entrance, an annoyed look planted on his face, brows furrowed, arms crossed, clearly irritated about something or rather someone. Harry wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but it didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong. 

Sirius shook his head, disapprovingly. “I’m still alive,” he pronounced, the statement declared far too casually, as if announcing tonight’s dinner. “Why don’t you tell Harry about the Order of the Phoenix?” 

Harry’s eyes lit up, full of bubbling curiosity, a desire to know, understand, and discover. The Order of the Phoenix? That was a term he was unfamiliar with. 

“No, no, no. Harry is just a boy. He doesn’t need to know.” Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry, a warm, motherly gaze taking over. “Why don’t you go upstairs. You’ll be staying with Ron, in the first bedroom on the right. Oh, and lunch should be ready shortly.” 

Rolling his eyes, Sirius sighed. “I knew you’d say that,” he muttered. 

Feeling obliged to, Harry headed up the staircase, clutching onto his trunk and Hedwig’s cage. The owl gave a sharp hoot, indicating she wanted something, which Harry assumed was either food or a chance to spread her wings. “I know, I know, you’re hungry, girl. I’ll let you out in a minute,” he said reassuringly. 

Hanging from the walls were portraits of witches and wizards, some snoring as they were sleeping, others watching him suspiciously as if he was planning an attack. The wallpaper was grimy with years of stains, and in a couple of places, there was a tear, giving the house a haunting feeling. 

The staircase creaked and groaned with each step Harry took. The staircase looked battered yet also beautiful. Even though it was worn down, there were signs of a past full of balls and banquets. 

After climbing a flight of stairs, Harry paused, carefully listening in on the argument happening below. Perhaps it wasn’t his business, but he wanted to know what was going on between them.

“Have you forgotten? Most of the Wizarding World believes you’re a mass murderer. You could’ve been seen.” 

Silently, Harry agreed. 

“Well, nothing happened, and that’s what matters.” 

“Still, anyone else could’ve gone. Remus, Mad-eye, Kingsley, but no, you just had to go!”

“Well, I’ve been cooped up in here for a while. There’s no harm in getting some fresh air-”

“FRESH AIR,” Mrs. Weasley roared, and with that, Harry dashed up the second flight of stairs, turned right, and opened the first bedroom. 

“Harry!” Hermione shouted gleefully, a smile lighting up her face. “I’m so sorry about the lack of letters, but Dumbledore made us promise not to tell you anything.” She glanced over at Ron, indicating who ‘us’ involved. “Oh, and we’ve heard about the dementors and the Ministry hearing, but it’s completely outrageous. They can’t just expel you!” 

“Let him breathe,” Ron said, chuckling. He appeared to have grown several inches over the summer. “You know,” he added, approaching the two. “Hedwig pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters.” 

To clarify, Ron raised a finger, showing off the bite marks, and then, he began laughing. Harry, however, was unable to find any amusement. 

“Oh... Well, I just wanted answers...” 

“Sorry mate, but Dumbledore made us promise-”

“Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard. You couldn’t write to me.” 

There was something bitter about his nature, something venomous, something unusual.

Harry glanced about the bedroom, refusing to meet his friend’s concerning gazes; however, Hermione discerned this and began speaking, began reassuring him. “Look, Harry,” she spoke softly, gently. “Dumbledore thought it would be best.” 

Harry didn’t want to yell, didn’t want to argue, but a gust of powerful emotions erupted, swirling in unsteady and radiating ripples, the atmosphere subtly electric. 

“Thought what would be best? Keeping me in the dark? And what’s the Order of the Phoenix? Surely, you two know, but Dumbledore _fucking_ wouldn’t let me know anything. FOR WEEKS I’VE BEEN ALONE, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WAS GOING ON, BUT NO DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU PROMISE.” 

The two stayed silent throughout his short outburst, occasionally sharing glances. Not even Hermione bothered to try calming him down, which was surprising. 

Harry watched them intensely, eyes darting back and forth, soaking up their expressions. Hermione’s eyes showed the kind of gentle concern a grandfather would have, wrapped in a blanket of caring. Ron’s smile had faded and in its place was a small, obscure grimace, yet there was enough passion behind the frown for Harry to know Ron was also deeply concerned. 

Allowing his anger to control him, Harry began marching out of the bedroom; however, the rational part of him took over for a moment, and he paused, glancing back at his friends. 

Perhaps... he should tell them about the diary, about the Death Eaters, about Donna... They were his friends. They had the right to know. 

A voice. A conniving, almost realistic voice in the back of his mind spoke, determined to convince. The voice didn’t feel like his own, but rather somebody else was speaking directly to him. 

_They didn’t write to you, so why should you tell them anything. They had their secrets; therefore, you’re entitled to your own._

Those words were _very_ persuasive. 

_Too_ persuasive. 

That voice... That voice was sickly-sweet like sugar sitting in a bowl, not the perfect white cubes, yet the irregular imperfect shape of sweetness. However, that voice was also venomous like a green, deadly, slime-like poison.

It was like the devil was speaking to him. 

Harry agreed, and with that, he slammed the bedroom door, leaving Ron and Hermione quite bewildered by his actions.

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, begging for him to return, begging for a second chance. However, Harry ignored her, blocking out the rest of her pleas. “Please, just let us explain.” 

“Harry.” This time it was Ron speaking. “Mate, please come back. We’ll explain everything.” 

They wouldn’t, _no_ , didn’t understand. 

Nearly scoffing, Harry proceeded along the corridor. 

They didn’t care. 

Not enough to send an owl, and certainly not enough to share any information. 

Suddenly, there were two loud cracks, and Fred and George emerged out of thin air, but not even the sight of the two pranksters could make Harry smile. 

“Hello, Harry,” George said. “We thought we heard you yelling.” 

“I don’t know, George. I’m not sure I heard him well enough,” Fred said. 

“So you two passed your Apparation tests?” Harry asked, rather grumpily, not in the mood for their jokes. 

“With ease,” Fred proclaimed. 

Harry noticed George was carrying a small cardboard box. “What’s in there?” 

“Well, you see, Harry, the Order is having a meeting tonight, and we thought we’d pull a prank on one of the members,” George answered. 

“Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix is?” Harry groaned. 

The twins shot a glance at one another, somehow communicating without words. “A secret society,” George said. 

“Dumbledore found it. It’s full of people who fought against You-Know-Who last time,” Fred continued. 

“Who’s in it?” Harry asked, intrigued. 

“Loads of people,” George said. 

Fred pulled out something, holding what looked like a piece of long, flesh-colored string. 

“Extendable Ears,” he said, noticing Harry’s state of confusion. “We invented these to find out what’s going on within the Order.” 

“They’ll be very usual tonight. After all, Snape is coming. He’s supposed to be giving a report or something,” George said. 

“Snape?”

Harry couldn’t believe it. 

“Yep, he’s on our side now,” Fred said, sounding as unconvinced as Harry was.

Harry nodded. “Well, I best be off then.” 

“I wouldn’t go downstairs if I were you,” Fred said. “Mum might make you help with lunch.” 

Harry glanced back at the box. “You never told me what’s in there.” 

“That’s a surprise.” Fred winked. 

“Oh and, Harry, you better not stay mad for too long. I’d hate to see the three of you fall apart over something this silly,” George said. 

And with that, Harry headed back to the bedroom, realizing he was acting too stubborn. 

He needed to apologize. After all, Ron and Hermione were his best friends. He couldn’t stay mad at them forever. 

***

Several hours passed, and everyone was seated around the dining room table, enjoying their dinner, which was grilled sirloin steak with roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes. It was nice to enjoy Mrs. Weasley’s cooking again. 

Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose to look like different animals. 

“Do a pig snout!” Ginny requested.

The yellow-orangish bill of a duck began reshaping itself until it became a short, pink snout. 

Fred and George were whispering amongst themselves, more than likely constructing their next prank. 

Mrs. Weasley was furious. Her eyes narrow, rigid, cold, and hard; they were like a knife, digging deep into whoever looked into them. 

Earlier that evening, the Order meeting ended, resulting in Snape’s hair turning hot pink. Harry had to admit the sight was very amusing, but Mrs. Weasley disagreed. 

“Harry,” Sirius called out from a few seats away.

Somewhat startled, Harry glanced up from his plate. For most of the meal, he had been lost in his thoughts, drowning out the conversations happening around him. “Yes?”

“I was wondering...” he said, poking at his mashed potatoes, “Who was that woman you were staying with?” 

“What woman?” Mrs. Weasley asked, seeming to have been listening in on their conversation. “Harry was staying with the Dursleys.” 

Mrs. Weasley’s remark caught everyone’s attention. Conversations drew to a close, draping the room in deep stillness, and before Harry knew it, all eyes were on him. 

“Uh-” Quickly, Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice, trying to devise his next words. “Well... The Dursleys may have moved away...” He spoke softly, quivering, almost in despair. 

“Surely you moved with them?” Mrs. Weasley asked. However, it was less of a question, but more of a comment to herself. 

Harry glanced about the table. All eyes were on him, _waiting_ , _waiting,_ _waiting_ , for him to speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he fiddled with his knuckles, weaving his fingers in and out of each other. 

“Not exactly,” Harry mumbled, certain that nobody heard him. 

Thankfully, before he was forced to repeat himself, somebody began speaking. “We picked Harry up in a town just outside of London,” Tonks said, her nose now a rabbit’s. “He was staying with a muggle woman; however, when we arrived, Malfoy and MacNair were both there.” 

“There were Death Eaters! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Harry could’ve died!” She turned to Harry. “Thank goodness you’re alright, but do you even know who this woman is? She could’ve been a Death Eater under disguise.” 

“Harry did more than alright!” Sirius exclaimed. “He disarmed Malfoy and then used a body-binding curse. James would’ve been proud of you, kid.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s great, but are you even listening to me?” 

Harry shoveled down a large forkful of Brussels sprouts before answering. “Her name is Donna Jones. She’s friends with my Aunt, and when the Dursley’s mentioned they were moving, she offered to take me in.” 

Mrs. Weasley looked unconvinced. “Why were the Death Eaters there. How did they get there?” 

“We have no clue how they got there, but we can only assume they planned on bringing Harry to You-Know-Who,” Tonks said. “Perhaps they had something to do with the dementors,” she added. 

“I want to join the Order,” he blurted out. He truly wanted to. He wanted to fight, and he was already in a deep fight with Voldemort, so what was the harm in joining?

“No,” Mrs. Weasley stated, providing no further explanation, but the one-worded answer was enough to disappoint Harry. 

Before he could start protesting, somebody else began speaking. “I would have to agree.” This time, it was Lupin speaking. He had been silent throughout most of the meal, so Harry was surprised when he heard his voice. “The Order is made up of overage wizards who have graduated. It is far too dangerous.” 

The rest of the meal was fairly quiet, and when everybody finished eating, Mrs. Weasley brought out a triple-layer chocolate cake for dessert. 

“I think our prank was hilarious,” Fred declared, shattering the silence. 

“I have to agree, Fred. Plus, Snape looks rather stylish with pink hair,” George said.

“But he’s a teacher... You can’t just-” Hermione argued. 

“Oh, lighten up ‘mione. You have to agree; it was hilarious,” Ron said through a mouthful of cake, causing his words to be nearly inaudible. 

“I hope you both know you’re grounded,” Mrs. Weasley scolded, wagging a finger at the twins. 

“Don’t worry, mum. The hair dye will come out. Just give it a week weeks,” Fred said, causing the teenagers at the table to laugh and even Sirius to crack a smile. 

***

“Cedric, nooooo!” 

Panic swarmed him whole. Heart racing overruled any rational thoughts, the starting sound echoing as it rapidly increased. An icy shudder washed over his face and crept under his clothes, spreading across his skin like the gauzy tide on a frigid winter beach. 

His head was aching, a violent, crushing pain throbbing around his skull. Nausea was overwhelming him, and Harry thought he was about to vomit.

A shrill scream escaped his throat, eyes wide in horror, mouth rigid and open. It was as if his terrified soul unleashed a demon. 

Of course, the nightmare. 

The reoccurring nightmare that refused to leave. 

A flash of green light, Cedric’s lifeless body, the man wearing a tattered, black cloak. It felt too familiar. It felt sickening. 

Stealing all the air from his lungs, Harry took a deep breath, feeling all tension leave his body, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Then, he listened for any noise, and when he was certain, Ron was fast asleep, he snuck out of the bedroom and hurried down the staircase as quietly as possible. 

“FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR!” 

Oh shit. But seriously, did that woman ever shut up?

Harry steadily crept along the corridor, careful not to make a sound so that he wouldn’t endure another ear-splitting scream. However, his plan did not go as intended.

“FILTHY HALF BLOOD. DISGRACEFUL! THAT’S WHAT YOU ARE- A DISGRACE!”

“Oh, shut up, you old hag!” Someone shouted. Someone that wasn’t Sirius. 

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one up, which was unexpected. Usually, whenever Harry awoke from a nightmare, everybody else was fast asleep, dreaming of whatever, unaware that Harry was wandering along the corridors of Grimuald Place. Curious to know why somebody was up so late, Harry proceeded into the kitchen.

Chocolate chip muffins covered a plate on the center of the table; golden domes perfectly cracked down the center. Each one warm and ready to touch. A heavenly smell drifted through the air, deepening the aroma of the kitchen. 

“Hello, Harry,” Ginny greeted, holding a muffin out towards him. 

Harry grabbed the muffin and took a bite. The muffin was delicious, tasting as impressive as they looked and smelt. Harry took another bite, this time savoring the glistening chocolate and the sugar that coated the top. He would never have taken Ginny as a skilled baker, but with Mrs. Weasley’s incredible ability, perhaps the talent ran in the family.

“Well, how are they?”

“They taste amazing,” Harry replied.

As if not believing him, Ginny snatched a muffin from the plate and took a large bite. “Wow.” She grinned, slightly amazed with her baking. “These are good.” 

A small smile settled on the edge of Harry’s lips. “I told you so.”

The two burst into laughter, but the laughter didn’t feel normal; it was awkward, forced. 

As the moment passed, an earnest expression fell over Ginny, replacing the smile that was once growing with happiness, much like a spring flower opening. She didn’t appear upset, but more so concerned. 

“How are you, Harry?” 

“What do you mean?” He inquired, confused by the sudden change of subject. 

_How are you, Harry?_ Sure, he could always give a simple response, pretending everything was alright, even if it wasn’t. Deep inside, he wanted to tell somebody about the nightmares, about the diary, but a jumble of fear and regret held him back from speaking of his troubles. 

Sighing, Ginny shook her head, clearly frustrated, but not enough to admit so. “Oh, please. You’ve been moping around the moment you’ve arrived, and Ron told me about these constant nightmares of yours. I just want to make sure that you’re doing alright.” 

“You know what, Ginny, no, I’m not doing alright. Every night I have the same nightmare about the events that took place in the graveyard, you know, where Cedric died! Half of the Wizarding World doesn’t believe that Voldemort returned, and on top of that, there’s a good chance I’m going to be expelled!” 

It was like a volcano simmering for a long time, but eventually, it exploded, red hot lava flowing down the side of the volcano and magma spewing out the top. All the built-up thoughts exploded, well, everything except the diary. The diary was a secret; nobody else needed to know about Tom Riddle. 

“Harry...” Ginny said softly. “I cannot say I will ever understand what you’re going through, but if you ever need somebody to talk to, I’m here. Understand? I know the two of us aren’t the closest, but...” She trailed off, dismissing the rest of her thoughts. 

Harry sighed. “Look, I am sorry about yelling-” 

Ginny raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. “There’s no need to apologize; we all have our moments.” 

“What if I am expelled? What if I never attend Hogwarts again? What if I never see Ron, Hermione, Sirius, or anybody ever again...?” 

Ginny reached for the plate, grabbing a second muffin. “You were defending yourself, and the Ministry will understand. They’d be mad to expel you.”

Smirking, she looked down at the stack of chocolate chip muffins. “I think we can finish the rest ourselves. After all, once Ron gets ahold of them, they’ll all be gone.” 

The two burst into laughter for a second time that night; however, the laughter wasn’t awkward or forced but natural. 

***

After finishing a delightful birthday breakfast of pancakes topped with strawberries and drenched in chocolate syrup, which Ron and Hermione had delivered, greeting him with birthday wishes, Harry slipped out of bed only to encounter an ambiguous, fluorescent glow coming from his trunk. The light was growing brighter and brighter, lighting up the room like the sun lights up the sky. Curious, he opened the trunk. What happened next was unexplainable, shocking, and perhaps a bit frightening. 

The diary launched itself from the trunk, landing wide open on the bedroom floor. Harry crouched down, seized the book, and as doing so, he spotted that familiar, highly sophisticated scrawl. 

**_If I recall correctly, I believe you said you wanted to meet me._ **

He had and still wanted to. 

Eager to unravel the truth about Tom Riddle, Harry grabbed a quill, an ink bottle, and hastily wrote back. 

_Yes, but how…?_

There wasn’t an immediate reply, but another fluorescent glow surged through the diary, nearly blinding Harry. Seconds later, Harry felt himself falling into its pages, _sinking, sinking, sinking_ until Grimmauld Place was long out of sight. 

“Hello.” 

At the sound of the low, unrecognizable voice, Harry spun around, nearly jumping from fright. Shelves and Shelves of modern and antique books enclosed him, and Harry was fairly sure he was in the Hogwarts library. Unlike Hermione, he would never waste ages studying or researching, but the grand library was unmistakable. 

Above him was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling like the corpse of a giant spider. It dripped with perfectly cut diamonds and was made of white gold, and inside was a single candle, which did its job of lighting up the room. 

“Hello?” Harry called out. “Tom… Where are you?” 

Row after row of precisely lined up books faced outwards, and Harry paced back and forth, grazing a finger along their spines, memorizing titles as doing so.

 _“Secrets of the Darkest Art, Magick Moste Evile, Jinxes for the Jinxed,”_ Harry read aloud. How Peculiar. Surely books containing information regarding dark magic would be in the restricted section, yet here they were ready for any eager student to lay their hands on. “ _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, The Dark Arts: A Legal Companion,”_ he muttered, continuing along the aisle of shelves. 

A queasy silence caressed Harry’s skin like a cool summer breeze, smoothing his soul and gnawing at his insides. The stillness hung around the shelves like the suspended moment before glass shatters on the ground. The silence discarded peaceful feelings, replenishing them with disquieting ideas. What if Tom was not here? What if Tom tricked him? What if Tom trapped him inside the diary… _forever?_

“Hello?” Harry tried again. 

Nothing. Just silence. 

A painful, ominous silence. 

As Harry continued along the row of shelves, a faint thumping swirled around his mind, plunging into his ears. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Perhaps a heartbeat.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Harry placed a hand over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. The sound was pattered, rhythmic, much unlike the harsh thumping. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Louder. Much louder than before. 

The source of the noise was close. _Very_ close. 

Perhaps _too_ close…. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Suddenly, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. No, not a tap, more of a jab. Something pointed was pressing, _piercing_ into his skin. Clutching tightly onto his wand, Harry spun around only to encounter a stranger. 

Dark hair.

Matching dark eyes, stirring with intensity and power.

A wry smirk tugging against lips.

None of this was familiar.

The stranger was dressed in Slytherin robes, indicating he belonged to the house that valued ambition, cunningness, and resourcefulness. He was tall, much taller than Harry, and rather handsome. Surely girls all over Hogwarts would fawn over his attractiveness. And his jawline... It was sharp enough to cut his heart out of his chest. 

“Tom?” Harry questioned, feeling rather dumb. 

“Yes, Harry. We finally meet at last.” Those eyes. Those dark, mysterious eyes. Crimson overruled them, boiling with wickedness, flickering for only a moment, but long enough for Harry to notice the enigmatic sight. The sight was making him look less human and more like a _monster_. 

“Hold up, where are we?” Harry blurted out. 

That smirk grew wider, well, if that was even possible. “The Hogwarts library, of course. Surely, you recognize it?”

“Yes, but why here?” 

Tom shrugged. “I rather like the environment. It’s peaceful, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Harry had to agree, the environment was peaceful, but it was so unlike the Hogwarts he was used to. Usually, the Hogwarts library was full of students studying, researching, reading, or just hanging out, but the only people in sight were him and Tom. It felt strange. 

“I guess… But-”

Tom raised a hand, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. “You wanted to meet with me, so I assume there is something you wish to ask me,” he spoke softly, voice laced with sweet golden honey, but there was something disguised beneath those words, something lethal. 

“Many things, actually.” 

“Many things,” Tom muttered. “I’m surprised you were willing to meet with me.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry inquired. 

“You know what? I might just throw your diary away,” Tom spoke mockingly, voice raising an octave higher, which sounded very unnatural. 

Slightly upset with the terrible impression, Harry could feel heat growing upon his cheeks, the shade far beyond an attractive rosiness. 

Tom chucked, greatly assumed by Harry’s reaction. “Oh darling, there’s no need to get embarrassed; I was only joking.” 

However, the laughter wasn’t filled with humor; it was cruel and cold, causing Harry to stay frozen to the spot, soaking up the mocking sound.

“And you said you regretted writing to me,” Harry snapped back. 

Tom sighed. “I apologize, sweetheart.” 

Perhaps it was embarrassment or anger or both, but the fiery red was roasting hot, burning his skin. The warmth was like a fire, its glowing embers leaping and twirling in a dance, twinkling like stars. “Can you stop with the nicknames,” he demanded. 

“Are they not suitable enough for you?” 

“Oh, shove off. I know who you really are, Tom.” 

Tom’s smirk suddenly vanished, dissolving into an emotionless, unreadable expression. An expression that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Do you?” He raised a brow, urging Harry to continue speaking.

Harry nodded as he tried to regain his confidence. “Yes. I know lots about you, Tom Riddle. Or should I say, Lord Voldemort?” 

“That’s quite the accusation you have, Harry. Voldemort is a dark wizard; surely, I don’t strike you as one.” 

“Quit playing dumb, Tom. I figured it out, and now, I guess you’re going to kill me. After all, you’ve always wanted to do so. But seriously, an anagram? Tom Marvolo Riddle, I am Lord Voldemort.” 

Tom snapped his fingers, and Harry’s wand appeared in his hand, but before Harry could protest, Tom began speaking. “I’m not going to kill you,” he murmured, twirling the holly wood between his fingers, “but yes, you’re right.”

“You know what, Tom. I plan on giving Dumbledore your diary; he’ll know just what to do.”

“Oh no you won’t.” 

It was true. Even at a younger age, Voldemort feared Dumbledore.

Tom stepped closer, slowly inching in on the younger wizard. “I’m sorry, but I must do this.” 

Before Harry had a chance to react to those words, Tom pointed the wand directly towards him, and without hesitation, he muttered the incantation. “Obliviate.” He stepped backward, gawking at a slightly dazed Harry. “I had to do that. After all, you’ve proven yourself useful, Harry Potter.”

There was a short pause before Tom continued speaking, “Oh, and be sure to keep writing. I would hate to lose touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay they met! :)   
> I was really excited to write the final scene, but I ended up rewriting it MANY times until I was satisfied. I plan on having Tom and Harry meet a couple more times within the following few chapters, so stay tuned.   
> <3


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